


Between the Desire and the Spasm

by Pachacuti (NorthernStar)



Series: Falls the Shadow [1]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: "Off-Screen" Vaginal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Not Much Plot, Angst, Aramis is Skilled in Bed, Come play, Foreskins, Friendship, Groin Injuries, Hand Jobs, Multi, OT2 Becomes OT3, OT3, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porthos is Skilled in Bed Too, Sex basically, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/Pachacuti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis needs him, in a way he never considered being needed by his friends.  </p><p>There is very little Athos would not do for his friends...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from T S Elliot's "The Hollow Men."
> 
> Yeah, that sound you hear probably _is_ Mr Elliot rolling in his grave at being associated with such fiction.

Porthos laid his cards on the table and smiled.  For once he was playing with a hand that lady luck had dealt him and not with the contents of his sleeve.  Tonight was going to be a good night, he decided.  
But because life had always treated him poorly, and thoughts like that were unfortunately prone to make the Almighty prove him wrong, it was at that moment that Aramis stumbled in to the bar, dressed in his shirt and braes, feet bare and caked in mud, hair eschew, blood pouring from his scalp and clutching the rest of his clothes to his front.

  
“Aramis!”   He threw down the cards and hurried over. 

Athos beat him to Aramis’ side.  “What happened?”  He asked as Aramis all but sagged against him.  Athos bore his weight easily.

“Monsieur de Sauveterre.”

There was a noticeable drop in the concern with which Athos was treating Aramis.  “He caught you with his wife, I presume?”  He shifted Aramis away from him slightly, although not enough to force him to stand on his own.  The movement made him moan under his breath, low and full of…

Porthos felt an ache low in his belly as he looked at Aramis.  His friend’s eyes fixed on his face and his hand found its way to Porthos’ arm.  “I need you, Porthos.”  His words were desperate.

And of course, he would never say no.

  
-o0o-

**Earlier…**

The mouse stared at Aramis with black glassy eyes, clearly displeased that his home underneath the bed of Madame de Sauveterre had been invaded.  But not nearly so displeased as Aramis was to end his delightful evening here, listening to someone else reap the fruits of his ardent labour. 

“Oh my love!” Monsieur de Sauveterre cried.  “You are so wet for me!”

Aramis stifled a groan, remembering the way Clair’s slick juices had run as he coaxed her towards her third orgasm with his mouth.  She was on the very cusp and he was about to pull back and finally slide into her to bring her over the edge with his cock – her gloriously slippery wetness and the strong contractions of her orgasm his reward – when they were disturbed.

“It has never been so…so…oh yes!”  The man groaned and the bed above Aramis’ head began rocking faster. 

Clair increased her moans, clearly pleased by her husband’s enthusiasm but Aramis could hear no hint of an approaching orgasm in her gasps and sighed to himself at the idiocy of the man.  Aramis had so well prepared his wife that all she would have needed was a little gentle lovemaking, a little pressure to that most sensitive part of her loins and she would have come so hard around his cock that –

Aramis bit his lip to hold in the groan of frustration.  His balls ached furiously.

“Oh my love, yes, yes!”

The mouse blinked at him.  It did not seem to be at all sympathetic to his plight, but at least it tolerated his presence.

The bed creaked and bounced, and while the poor excuse for lovemaking offended him, the sounds still pleased the baser needs of his cock and it remained hard and aching.  He might have abandoned his pride and reached down and dealt with the matter himself had the mouse not been so transfixed by his face.

(Perhaps it was female…)

It would have been…unsettling.

The man abruptly moaned out his orgasm just as his wife was beginning to sound as if she had found a rhythm to follow to her own completion. 

Aramis frowned at the inconsideration.

The bed then remained still as the man obviously just lay there, basking in his glory.  No attempt was made to ensure his wife was equally satisfied.

Inconsiderate _and_ selfish; the man thoroughly deserved to be cuckolded.

The mouse continued to stare, nose twitching, and Aramis decided she was agreeing with him.  

Time ticked by and the stillness of the bed reigned.  The aching hardness between his legs continued unabated though as if it meant to punish him for being denied.  His balls were so tight and tender that the thought of moving his legs even an inch filled him with dread.  But move he must, because unless he was very much mistaken, Monsieur de Sauveterre had compounded his inconsideration and selfishness by an act of total rudeness and fallen asleep beside his unsatisfied lady. 

But at least offered him an opportunity to escape and sure enough, Clair’s feet appeared in his eye line, then her knees and finally as she bent over, her face.

“He’s asleep.”  Clair hissed and motioned him out.

Shuffling carefully out was as painful and as unpleasant as he imagined it would be.  Aramis got to his feet and stood, naked and hard, in front of his love. 

She looked down at his cock and whispered.  “My poor Aramis!” 

She reached out to touch him, clever fingers finding that wonderful place on his penis where his foreskin was attached and caressing it, and he couldn’t hold back the groan.

Monsieur de Sauveterre was not so asleep as his wife had assumed.  His eyes snapped open and he roared as he saw Aramis.

Clair screamed.

Monsieur de Sauveterre stumbled to his feet, angry but clearly confused by the circumstances.  This was something the man had never encountered before.  Aramis, however, had the advantage of long practice. 

He grabbed his clothes and drove for the window.  There he tossed out his clothes, climbed onto the sill where he threw a smile at Clair de Sauveterre before jumping.

Aramis landed badly.  The fall jolted his enflamed flesh and he hissed in pain.  It took him far longer to find his feet and when he began to run, clothes and weapons clutched to his chest, it was with awkward agonising strides.

“Stop!”  The man yelled.  “Stop, you bastard!”

Fear had no impact on his painful erection but at least it gave him something else to focus on.  It would not be a surprise, given his handicaps, Aramis thought as he fled, if the man caught up with him.  It was a surprise when a shadow stepped in front of him, blocking his path and Aramis was forced to halt sharply or hit it.

“I believe Monsieur de Sauveterre asked that you stop.”  The shadow said.  “Or are you a coward as well as blaggard?” 

Aramis drew himself up and would have replied had something not lashed across the back of his legs.  He fell forward, gasping, onto his knees, the impact twisting them badly then whatever it was smashed into the back of his skull. 

“Enough!”  The other man said.  “Fight him like a man!”

Aramis clutched his head and with eyes that barely focused properly he could see Clair’s husband stand over him, wielded something that looked like a coal shovel. 

Aramis reached out, hand going to his sword which lay in the pile of his clothes, but the man kicked them away.  “That would be an unfair advantage, would it not?”

“Get up!”  Monsieur de Sauveterre demanded. 

Aramis got to his feet, his body falling into a defensive stance, but it seemed as if the sight of Aramis in his nakedness was too much for de Sauveterre and he swung the shovel at Aramis’ crotch.

Pain unlike any he had ever felt enveloped him, flaying every nerve in his body.  He heard a blood curdling cry and dimly recognised it as his own.  He clutched at his bruised flesh, falling to the ground and curling in on himself.  He was aware of the other man pulling de Sauveterre away, aware of Clair’s cries but it was all distant against the all-encompassing pain.

-o0o-

Porthos and Athos took Aramis back to his room at the garrison, which was thankfully almost deserted this early in the night.  Athos closed the door behind them as Porthos helped Aramis to the bed and sat him down.  Athos found a clean rag and carefully tended to his friend’s head.  Despite the copious amount of blood, there was only a small cut and it probably wouldn’t scar.  As he did so, Porthos took away the clothes Aramis was clutching and bent to examine his legs. 

“I’ll need to take these off.”  Porthos said.  He didn’t wait for an answer as he undid Aramis’ braes and carefully pulled them off.  Athos saw that beneath them, Aramis’ smallclothes were tented out slightly. He looked at Porthos’ face and saw no surprise.  Porthos had known all along.

Porthos’ hands were firm but not ungentle as he checked Aramis’ knees.  They had begun to swell and discolour but Athos thought that neither looked broken or permanently damaged.  And Porthos confirmed that a few moments later.

Porthos got to his feet.   “Can you, er, take it from here?”  He asked Aramis and his meaning hit Athos likes a rock. 

Aramis looked up at his friend and shook his head. 

“I know it’s probably been a while since you…took care of yourself,” Porthos said, “but I’m sure you’ll remember.”

“I was hit, Porthos,” Aramis said and there was fear in his voice, “I do not think…”

“This isn’t the first time a woman’s husband got his hands on you.”  Porthos said and he sounded a little tired.

“I was hit,” he repeated and met Porthos’ eyes with his own, “ _there._ ”

Despite his annoyance at Aramis’ predicament, Athos winced in sympathy. 

-o-

Concern immediately overrode any concern Porthos had about Athos’ presence and he quickly removed Aramis’ garments, hands fumbling awkwardly when his actions made Aramis moan.  But he finally tossed them aside.  Aramis’ penis, thick and impressive and every bit as beautiful as the rest of the man, looked red and angry, still slightly hard from his romancing despite the treatment it had received.  Porthos hated the part of him that watered at the sight.

Porthos leaned over and examined the flesh with his eyes.  Heat pooled in his own groin.  He was close enough to feel the heat from Aramis’ skin and to smell the musk that rose up.  He reached out to lift the long penis up so that he could see underneath but Aramis gripped his wrist.  His lips made a “no” motion, but no sound came out.

Porthos nodded and instead tilted his head over and around the area.  A harsh stab of want hit him low in the belly when he saw Aramis’ flesh twitch and fill out a little more in response to his nearness.  He looked up at Aramis; saw the younger man was watching him. 

“No damage.”  His voice sounded husky.

“To which all the ladies of Paris are pleased to hear, no doubt.”  Athos said.

“How long?”  Porthos asked.

“Hours.”  Aramis moaned softly.  “It hurts too much to touch.”

“It will subside given time.”  Athos said and his words were not unkind.

Aramis looked pleadingly up at him, “I need to come, Porthos.”  His words were soft but Porthos feared that Athos heard them anyway.  And while Athos was very much aware that he and Aramis lay together at times, he had never seen them so much as kiss.  He certainly hadn’t heard them talk so and when Porthos looked up he saw that Athos had gone still.

“I need to…”  He trembled and Porthos’ mind came up with so many endings.

_I need to know I’m not damaged._

_I need to know it still works._

_I need to feel good._

_I need you._

Aramis clutched at him.  “Make me come.” 

Porthos’ mouth went dry as a hundred images assailed him before his mind settled on the one, tried and true way, he knew would work.  But Aramis could barely stand, let alone kneel... 

“Can you support yourself?”

Aramis shook his head.

“I thought you couldn’t…”   Porthos looked at Athos, saw his confusion and thanked God for it.  “Not on your back.”   

Because how did one say, I can’t fuck you on your back because you always need other stimulation to come that way and not offend any listeners?

-o-

Athos was aware that there was a level to the conversation that he was not part of.  He could hear it in their words and see it in Porthos’ eyes. 

Porthos looked over at Athos.   “I can’t leave him like this.”

His meaning was clear and Athos felt something stir in his chest.  It was not disgust.  He had never thought what his friend’s did together was disgusting, although he knew others might say it was.  Sometimes, when he was drunk enough to admit it to himself…like now…he felt…quite the opposite about it.

“I will of course,” he found himself saying, “See to it that you are not disturbed.”

-o-

Porthos watched the door close behind Athos before he brushed the backs of his fingers down Aramis’ cheek.  His lover’s eyes fluttered closed at the caress.

“I told you Clair de Sauveterre was trouble.”

“Porthos…”  It was a plea and one he could not deny.

Porthos grabbed his head roughly and pulled him into a kiss.  Aramis made a sound, low and full of want.  It went straight to Porthos’ cock.  Aramis curled in towards him, lips moving from teasing brushes against Porthos’ mouth to deep, full kisses and then back.  His fingers clawed hungrily at Porthos’ clothes, cleverly undoing his buttons without taking his attention away from his exploration of Porthos’ mouth. 

When he pulled away to strip the shirt from Porthos, his lover could see that Aramis’ cock had come fully to life, jutting out hard and proud and if it caused him any pain, Porthos had long ago learned, he would never let him know. 

His hands slipped up Porthos’ back, fingers finding their way to all his sensitive spots and caressing them, before moving on to other less erotic parts of him that nonetheless came achingly to life under such skilled fingers.

God he loved this man.  

He loved what this man did to him and it would be so easy to just sink into his adoration…

No.

He pulled back a little.  “Aramis, you don’t have to…”  The words were lost, because he didn’t want it to sound unkind or ungrateful, so he merely finished with, “to wait.”  He looked down at the cock and wanted nothing more than to swallow it whole, worship it with his tongue and feel it throb out his completion in his mouth.  But he could see by the angry purple of the head, foreskin pulled tightly back by engorgement that even that would be too much for the tenderised flesh.  “Let me make you come now.” 

-o-

Aramis groaned at the words and even though he knew that in the morning he would berate himself for his selfishness, he surrendered to them, hooking a hand behind Porthos’ neck and biting hungrily at his lips.  Porthos pressed him back against the bed and looked down at him.

“I love watching you come.”  He admitted and then kissed a line down Aramis’ belly before getting up.  He went to the trunk in the corner and lifted the lid. 

When he returned to the bed, he had removed the last of his clothes and he was holding a small bottle of oil.  Aramis shuddered with a mix of anticipation and dread.  His groin was a mess of aching want and ugly pain and he feared that finally coming would not bring him relief.  He didn’t even know if he _could_ still come and if he did, if it would be enjoyable and not another mass of pain.  

Aramis did not tell this to Porthos, keeping his fears to himself and let his lover move his left thigh to create a space between his legs and kneel there.  Porthos looked magnificent, strong and beautiful, his long, thick cock standing out hard and proud.

He bit back a moan when he felt Porthos’ fingers at his hole, stroking and circling. 

-o-

Porthos stroked the pad of his thumb over the small pucker.  The heat was enticing and he used his other hand to dribble some oil down the crack of his backside.  He smoothed the oil onto the skin before pushing in.  His thumb slide in easily and Aramis groaned.  He stroked side to side, spreading the oil and stretching the muscle and it earned him an impatient, “Porthos.”

Smiling, he withdrew and poured more oil onto his fingers before pushing one inside.  He moved it in and out slowly, watching the way Aramis’ chest hitched as he stroked deeper.  He knew what to feel for and quickly found it, a small raised bump, and stroked across it.  Aramis’ hips bucked up.  He loved doing this, loved making Aramis come apart like this…

(…he loved the feel of it too, when Aramis had shown him why he liked being fucked like a woman…)

…but he had always coupled the actions with his mouth on Aramis’ cock before because the angle wasn’t quite right.  He repeated the action, harder this time but all it elicited was a stifled moan of frustration. 

“It’s not enough.”  Aramis voiced his own fears.  He made a little sound of protest as Porthos removed his fingers.

Porthos leaned over him and kissed him.  “I’m going to make you come.”  He promised.

He oiled his erection then parted Aramis’ legs further and settled over his lover.  Aramis stared up at him, flushed; keeping his eyes fixed on Porthos’ as he lined up and pushed in.  Tight heat gripped him and he cursed softly to himself.

It always felt like coming home.

-o-

Aramis lifted his lips to drive Porthos deeper.  His lover moved slowly, working deep inside, his glans rubbing against that place up inside him that sent sparks of pleasure throughout his penis and groin.  The sensations bathed him at first, lapping gently and then washing over him and suddenly it was if it was trying to drown him.

Too much, too much, too much…

His cock ached, his balls ached, and it wouldn’t happen, it would _never_ happen…

“No!  Stop!”  He gasped, “God, Porthos, STOP!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Athos reacted to Aramis’ shout before he consciously thought.  He threw himself out of his own room and crashed open the door to Aramis’ with lightning speed.  He would have grabbed at Porthos had he not seen that the man had already stepped away from Aramis.

Their friend lay on the bed, bathed in sweat, face contorted with pain.  His erection looked angry, bloated and purple.  He looked far worse than when he had left him with Porthos and a hot flash of anger rose up.

“This is not helping him, Porthos!”  He snapped but his words dried up as he observed the shine of oil on Porthos’ erect penis and the lie of Aramis’ legs.  His own traitorous cock twitched in his smalls.

Porthos went to Aramis’ side, kissed his lips.  “I’m sorry.”  He murmured.

Aramis pulled back.  “This will pass,” his voice was soft but strong, “as Athos says.”

It would of course and they had all suffered through this frustration.  And despite the heavy discomfort that suggested otherwise, it was survivable and did no damage.   Athos offered the only palliative he trusted.  “I will bring you some wine.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said, not meeting Athos’ eyes as he pulled the sheet over himself to preserve his modesty.

Athos would have turned to fetch a bottle from the stores, but Porthos left Aramis’ side and gripped his arm.

“He needs to kneel on the bed.”  Porthos said stubbornly.  “We can do this if he kneels.”

The image rose up in Athos’ head without his bidding.  A sharp stab of lust followed it.  To distract himself, Athos looked at the ruin of Aramis’ knee, which could barely take the weight of the man as he walked. 

 _I thought you couldn’t…_ Porthos had said.  _Not on your back._

Oh. 

“Athos.  This will help Aramis.”  There was a hint of a plea in his voice.  “It will be quicker, easier and a lot less painful for him.”

“Porthos,” Aramis’ voice was filled with censure, “you cannot –”

Perhaps it was that that spurned him on, perhaps it was the unasked for lust curling in his loins, perhaps just curiosity…

Perhaps a little too much wine and too long alone…

“I can hold him.”  He told Porthos.

-o0o-

Which was how, some minutes later, Aramis found himself kneeling painfully on the bed facing Athos, who had his elbows crooked under Aramis’ armpits and all but holding him up, taking most of his weight.  He rested his hands around Athos’ neck and if he relaxed, his head would fall forward against Athos’ shoulder.

He wanted to say something to Athos to put him at ease, but for the first time in bed, he found himself wordless.  And yet, being so close to Athos, he could see a softness in his eyes that had never been there before.  There was none of disgust or discomfort that Aramis feared he might see. 

His friend smiled at him and dipped his head slightly, pressing his chin to Aramis’ forehead.

“Athos…”  He murmured but then he felt movement at his back as Porthos knelt up behind his lover and the moment was broken. 

He heard the slick sounds of a cock being oiled and shivered in delight a few seconds later when he felt oil being dribbled over his entrance.  He bit back a moan as Porthos’ fingers pushed inside him to spread the lubrication.  His body was so tightly wound that he no longer knew if what he was feeling was pleasure.  It felt like pleasure and yet stung like pain.

It crested almost overwhelmingly as he felt Porthos push in.  Aramis sank back against his lover, pulling Athos with him so that their friend’s forearms and hands were trapped between them.  One of his arms slipped from Athos’ neck to hang loosely in the air.  Porthos lifted his hips as Aramis sank onto him and when he could press no further, they rolled together in a slow and even rhythm.

Porthos’ hands stroked down Aramis’ sides and played across his skin as he moved smoothly deep up inside him, long fluid strokes that he could lose himself in.  Aramis’ head fell back so that he rested on Porthos’ shoulder, his body bent like a bow, and surrendered to the hot stabs of pleasure as he was filled. He could not stop the soft cries that escaped from him every time Porthos’ cock brushed over that place inside him.

Porthos did not have to move his head much to press his mouth against Aramis’ ear.  “You are just made of sin.”  He murmured.  
Aramis tightened his muscles around Porthos by way of reply, revelling in the sharp groan his lover made as his cock was squeezed.  Porthos’ fingers clawed into the flesh of Aramis’ hips, “yeah, yeah…”

-o-

Athos’ mouth had gone dry.  They looked incredible moving together, Aramis, so beautiful, lost in pleasure and Porthos, bathed in a sheen of sweat, full of gentle care and passion.  He was probably unaware of the love that filled his eyes as he concentrated on pleasuring his partner. 

Athos’ own loins had long since hardened to diamond.  It was not just the sight of them that stirred his lust, but the sounds as well: the slick sound of Porthos’ cock sliding on the oil, the little gasps that escaped Aramis’ mouth and the base tenor of Porthos’ voice as he murmured. 

Trapped as he was, he could feel their motions; feel the shivers of delight that ran through Aramis when one of Porthos’ strokes went deeper than the others.  Aramis’ fingers kept tightening on his neck and the sensation thrilled him but then after a few moments would relax as if Aramis remembered who he was touching and force himself to stop.  Eventually he turned his head and brushed his lips against Aramis’ arm to reassure him that he didn’t mind. The younger man’s eyes flickered open and his head rose a little off of Porthos’ shoulder.

He kept his eyes locked with Aramis as he repeated the action, firmer this time, with a hint of a nip as skin scrapped his teeth.  He was rewarded with Aramis’ other hand coming up to rest upon his hip.

Then Aramis’ body rocked under a deeper, more powerful thrust and he moaned, head falling back against Porthos, his attention torn from Athos.  But Athos found it replaced with Porthos’.  It was not jealousy that he saw, nor was it possession or warning.  It just was.

Porthos thrust deep again and this time it tore words from Aramis: “Please, Porthos.”

 -o-

Porthos saw Aramis’ fingers spread and knot themselves in Athos’ hair as he begged.  Another wave of lust hit him, stronger even that when Athos had kissed his lover, pulling him out of his rhythm so that he shoved in hard and deep.  Aramis gave a needy cry and his hand left Athos’ hip.  He reached back and clawed at Porthos’ backside and the feel of it made him growl in animal desire.  His next thrust was hard, full of raw power and went deep.  The motion rocked Aramis into Athos, his head falling onto their friends shoulder as he shifted to keep hold of Aramis’ weight and avoid any part of him touching Aramis’ painfully erect flesh.

Porthos thrust again, up deep and almost brutal, and a shudder ran through Aramis.  Porthos didn’t pull out more than a few inches before he rammed back in again, with all the strength that he had, pounding his glans against the place inside Aramis that would make him come.

Aramis moaned, sounding so close.

-o-

Porthos’ thrusts sent bolts of pure electric fire through him and he cried out, but it still wasn’t happening.  He felt Porthos’ fingers stroke against his belly and his lips against his ear.  “Let go, Aramis.  Just let it go.”

And he thrust again and Aramis was right there, right there…

But even as the panic from before threatened to rise up again, he felt fingers on his brow, stroking softly, felt the heat of skin against his cheek and smelt…Athos.  He leaned into it, into the strength of his brother.

Porthos thrust again and this time he felt the pulse deep behind his balls building and his lips blindly sought his lovers as he started to come.  A mouth welcomed him just as Porthos pushed in again and it swallowed the cries he made as his orgasm finally washed over him, wracking his body with pleasure as his manhood throbbed and his seed erupted out.

-o-

The sound Aramis made into his mouth was harsh and animalistic and it made Athos balls tighten.  He felt Aramis’ body seize up in his arms and in the corner of his eye he saw the younger man’ penis jump and quiver and spurt out long jets of his come.  He had climaxed without ever being touched.

Athos had never seen anyone come like that, nor so long and so hard.  Desperate want clawed at the pit of his stomach. 

Aramis had gone boneless against him, his head lolling on Athos’ shoulder.  Porthos smiled and kissed the back of Aramis’ neck. 

“I have…”  His mouth refused to work and he swallowed.  “…never seen…”

“I’d be surprised if you did.”  Porthos said and kissed his insensate lover again, “I didn’t until Aramis showed me.  God knows where he learned it.”  Something dark shifted in Porthos’ eyes. “I probably don’t want to know.”

Aramis stirred in his arms then and lifted his head.

-o- 

Porthos gently pulled out.  He was still hard but he knew that Aramis was always very sensitive and sore after that type of orgasm and to continue love making would only bring him discomfort.  He had learned that Aramis would happily endure it for his partner’s pleasure but Porthos was not that kind of lover.

Aramis smiled at Athos.  “Thank you,” the words were soft.  It surprised him when Athos leaned forward and kissed Aramis’ lips, almost chastely.

Almost.

Then a look of horror passed across Athos’ face as he realised what he had done.  But the words “I’m sorry” were muffled as Aramis kissed him, opening his lips to Athos in a blatant invitation for his tongue.  
Porthos’ cock throbbed painfully as he saw Athos respond.  In all the years that he had known him, he had never seen the man blush.  But there was no hiding, on his pallid skin, the sudden flush of red.  

“I should…” He began as he pulled away, looking guiltily at Porthos, as if he feared he had wounded him, “I must…” 

And seeing the way Aramis was looking at Athos, perhaps he should feel jealousy.  But he did not. 

And he found himself saying: “You could stay.” 

-o-

Porthos sat at the end of the bed, propped up against the wall.  Aramis lay between his legs and ran his tongue up his lover’s penis.  Freed from his own terrible want he could put his skills to work without distraction.  And Athos deserved the chance to see that what he and Porthos did together, rather than being the affront to nature that society thought it was, was beautiful.

The other man sat on the bed next to them, dressed only in his smallclothes, which were handsomely tented.  Aramis snaked his hand into Athos’ lap and rested it there before turning his attention back to Porthos. 

He nibbled and licked around the head, occasionally trapping the foreskin between his lips and gently tugging on it.  He loved the way that Porthos moaned when he did that. 

-o-

Athos watched, his mouth dry, his heart racing.  And yet he couldn’t not look away.  Aramis pulled off of Porthos’ cock and the suction made a soft ‘pop’ and a thin string of saliva connected them even as he smiled, over the small distance between them, at Athos.  His hair was dishevelled and eyes were full of sin and want stabbed sharply through Athos. 

He was aware of Porthos watching them intently until Aramis swallowed his cock again and Porthos’ eyes rolled up in his head. 

A moan escaped him at the sight.  Aramis’ fingers twitched in Athos’ lap but made no other move. Athos freed his erection from his smallclothes and shifted on the bed, so that his penis was brushing against Aramis’ hand.  A blatantly request, Athos thought.

“Aramis always waits to be asked.”  Porthos said.  Athos looked over at him and there was that flicker of darkness again. “He needs to hear the words.”

“Please.”  Athos said and all thoughts of darkness disintegrated at the brush of fingers against his flesh, the sure and firm grip.  Despite the distraction of Porthos in his mouth, Aramis’ hand slowly went through a variety of motions and speeds until it changed to one that made him moan because, God, the angle of Aramis’ thumb against his glans was so good and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up into the grip.  It stayed like that, stripping him in long and even and luscious strokes, and he knew he would not last long against it.

He moaned out his urgency and Aramis’ head began moving faster as if to match their speeds.  Athos saw Porthos grab a handful of Aramis’ hair and for a second Athos thought he was guiding Aramis’ movements, but then he realised that Porthos was in fact limiting his lover’s enthusiasm because no one could still breath and do that and clearly Aramis did not care that he might suffocate. 

Porthos cared though and looking at his face, so unguarded as he watched Aramis deep throat him, it was obvious he cared far more than Aramis ever realised.

Then all thought was torn from him as his orgasm rose up and engulfed him, splattering his offering over Aramis’ fingers.  Dimply, he heard Porthos reach his own completion and turned his head to see Aramis sucking him dry.  The sight made him spasm one more glorious time and then he fell back against Porthos.

-o-

Porthos turned into the body lying against him, moving instinctively to press his lips against the curve of his shoulder before his head caught up with the knowledge that this was Athos.

Their friend Athos.

Their lover Athos…?

He felt Athos’ hand come up to cup the back of his head, guide him to his mouth and then as their lips touched, it felt only right that this was Athos.

They kissed slowly, deeply, for a long time until he became aware of Aramis watching them.  He knew he should feel guilty, but he did not. 

“Beautiful,” Aramis told them and they each reached down one hand down and together, pulled the younger man up to settle him against their chests. 

The bed was barely big enough for two and Porthos found himself teetering half off the edge once he had made room.  But he did not care. 

Aramis claimed his mouth briefly, allowing him to taste himself on his lover’s tongue, before Aramis turned and kissed Athos deeply.  Despite the fact he had come mere minutes before, the knowledge that Athos was now experiencing his flavour hit him with a stab of lust.

He pushed his fingers into the cooling streaks of come on Aramis’ belly before sucking them into his mouth.  The familiar saltiness of his lover flooded his mouth.  Then he gently brushed Aramis’ cheek, breaking their kiss so that he could repeat Aramis’ own actions.  Aramis’ eyes widened at the taste of himself in Porthos’ mouth and that made a shiver run through him.  It wasn’t often he could surprise his experienced lover and he relished the rare times it happened.  He broke from Aramis and shifted, leaning over him to offer Athos his mouth.   

-o-

Salt and musk assaulted his tongue and Porthos muttered “Aramis” into the kiss and for a brief moment, Athos thought he had forgotten who he was kissing, before his understanding kicked in.  He could taste Aramis in Porthos’ mouth.  He knew what they tasted like. 

He shifted to slip an arm around his lovers but he knocked against Aramis’ groin as he moved making the man groan in pain.  He pulled back.  He had almost forgotten why he was here. 

They had not asked him here because he was wanted.  He had been needed.  And his help had been rewarded.  Nothing more.

“Sorry.” 

“It does not hurt so much now.”  Aramis said and it was obviously a lie.  “The bruising will heal in a few days.”  That at least was true.

Porthos got off the bed and leaned over his friend’s penis.  It had returned to its flaccid state, limp and fat, but somehow it still managed to be as handsome as its owner.  Athos itched to touch it but he knew it would never happen. 

He forced himself to get up from the bed.  “I shall get you that wine I promised you.”

-o-

Aramis shivered as his body was suddenly robbed of Athos’ warmth so soon after losing Porthos’.  He had hoped their friend would stay with them. He had hoped…

But it did not matter what he had hoped.  Athos had been kind enough to help him in circumstances that he must have found, at least in the beginning, to be disconcerting and then had been sufficiently caught up to accept their thanks in kind.  He had obviously enjoyed the encounter but had no intention of continuing it.  Aramis could certainly understand that and would never allow his disappointment to dull the brilliance of their friendship. 

And after all, he had Porthos.  To want more would be as greedy as it was sinful. 

So he simply thanked Athos for the wine as he watched him dress. 

-o-

Once Athos had clothed himself, he walked to the door.  He looked over his shoulder to see that Porthos had curled himself around Aramis and the younger man had relaxed into his arms.

It took all his strength to turn away from them and close the door behind him.

\---Fin--


End file.
